*hmmmm's*
The Den proper exists separately from the cabins themselves. It's a pretty easy set up once you find the place. We've got every kind of brew you could want for a good wind down at the end of the day. Just steer clear of the kitchen unless you fancy some exercising of your reflexes.
*nods*
Oh, and given the chance, you'll want to meet Adara. She's the HBIC. Don't let her innocent face fool you. She's one tough cookie.
*laughs*
Truthfully, I think you'll enjoy the place.

*takes the hand, gives a solid shake*
I enjoy noticing things. Life gets kind of boring when you don't pay attention, doesn't it?
*stuffs his hands in to his front pockets*
Maybe check out The Den next time you're in our neck of the woods. We're always looking for new.. Friends.
The cabins are quite spacious.

*waves a hand*
You must know what I mean. Certain people omit a sort of je ne sais quoi.
*raises a brow, releases a suppressed breath*
Your posture suggests discipline. The small indentations on the outside heel of your shoes might indicate that you walk with your thighs instead of your calves. Ready to evacuate at a moments notice. Interesting.
*points briefly at the mans torso*
You're not dressed as though you've just rolled out of a trashcan. I assume there's a watch around your wrist, tucked just beneath the cuff of your shirt. Which, from the looks of it, breathes quite well. We all know how important that boy band appearance is.
*grins*
Maybe I just think my boss would like your face.

*eye roll*
Are flannel and t-shirts the international uniform for boy bands?
*shakes head*
Never mind all that. The Den, it's- Well I guess you could call it..
It's like a reserve. Could very loosely be described as a commune. Without any of that religious or cultish bullsh-t.
*apparently very salty about cults*
You've got an aura about you. Auras are important.

*clears throat*
Oh! Hey. I didn't see you there.
*slight shifty eye*
Okay, you caught me. I'm kind of, er. Scouting?
*shakes head*
That sounds way more strange than it actually is.
*pulls a small card from his pocket and offers it over*
I'm Tiber. I guess you could say I'm a representative.

Winter's icy eyes shift to look at the male who so rudely invaded his pockets mer seconds ago. Why was thievery such a common thing here? Of course he couldn't judge nor harbor any ill feelings towards the male. He was guilty of sticking his hands in others pockets as well.

"I tend to keep the wallet in the front pocket mate, if I leave it in the back it would simply be too easy to steal and where's the fun in making it easy?"

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs again. “You remind me of someone, I guess.” Like a dog with a bone, Elouise would slowly piece together why she knew him - if she did. Still, something bags at her as she looks up at him, the pinch of his eyebrows so similar, his complexion, the way he carries himself. If she was actually trying any harder, she might be able to form rudimentary guesses. But she’s simply not.

“Is it customary for you to take strangers to lunch? Or are we back on track to serial killer territory?”

“Figure it out for yourself.” She shrugged idly, easily keeping stride with him as they strolled along. It’d been some time since she’d attempted to act like anything resembling a human being, months since the appearance of humanity had shown in her day-to-day efforts. She hadn’t decided yet whether or not she would kill this stranger. But rest assured in her own abilities, she had no fear of any possibilities of retribution. While she no longer required human food, it wasn’t difficult to fabricate cravings. And it was equally as easy to pretend to be interested in Lennox.

“Have we met before?” Elouise forgot faces easily before, but so much in the present. There was a familiarity to Lennox she couldn’t place, perhaps because she was so far removed from Jameson and Noura now. Still, that undefinable something kept her attached to their encounter at hand.

“Lennox. How bourgeois.” She smirks, stuffing her hands into her pockets as they meandered onward. “So say he did shave the unibrow. He’d be a pretty handsome serial killer. Maybe if you shaved yours, you would be too.” She laughs quietly to herself, having already noted how manicured every inch of the man seemed to be.

“You’re damn right.” She hoists a triumphant fist in the air, falling back to her side thereafter. “Well, why should I give you my name first? What’s to say you’re not a serial killer?” She squints. “I mean, there have been hot serial killers before. Ted Bundy was pretty attractive.” She finally gives in with a shrug. “Okay, fine. I’m Elouise.”

She grabbed a blue tipped, ball-point pen from her back pocket (because you never know when you're going to need to scribble down some info... or stab someone in the eye) and subsequently, his hand. Her touch may have been a bit rougher than one might have imagine, what with her petite stature and her soft expressions. But this Camille was far from delicate. With a calculated bit of pressure, she began to write down the number to her cell phone, with a small scrawling of her name underneath. Cam.